


Find the One You Love

by VulcanKissesHuman



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Sequel, Starfleet, T'hy'la, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 22:01:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10930899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VulcanKissesHuman/pseuds/VulcanKissesHuman
Summary: it's been five years since Spock helped Jim run from an abusive home. Though Spock has accomplished much as a member of Starfleet and a scientist, he has never stopped wondering where Jim is.this is a sequel to the fic What We Let Go: http://archiveofourown.org/works/4140435/chapters/9338439





	1. The Instructor

**Author's Note:**

> so many people wanted a sequel to What We Let Go that I finally sat down and wrote this! I hope it gives the resolution that everyone was wanting :) you probably don't have to read What We Let Go to read this, but I highly recommend it, as I think it will make this story all the better, knowing the context of Spock and Jim's history. enjoy!

Captain Pike was late. Punctuality was not a matter that many humans took seriously but Pike was often on time, especially when it was to a meeting that he had arranged. Spock tilted his head slightly from where he sat in Pike’s empty office but he did not move any further. He had undergone three missions with the captain over the last five years, each had left him with a heightened level of respect for his commanding officer. If Pike was late it was most likely due to a more important matter than a meeting with his first officer. 

Spock studied the captain’s desk in front of him while he waited. An intriguing architectural design of glass and metal, the surface was covered with PADDs. A small holographic image spun a few inches above the mess, a landscape of what looked like the Mojave Desert. Unusual, but than Spock had never quite understood human taste in art despite his years living on Earth. The rest of the office was clean, uncluttered, much like Spock’s own dwellings, whether it was in San Francisco or aboard a starship. There was no other artwork but the large circular window of Pike’s office displayed an interesting view of the San Francisco bay behind Starfleet Academy. Light from the window made patterns across the tiled floor, shining on Spock’s black hair, his polished boots. The wall behind Pike’s desk parted suddenly, the captain stepping through the opening. 

“Spock, sorry for the delay,” Pike said, crossing over to his desk to drop another PADD on top of the others, “Marcus got in a debate with some captain from the Lunar VI colony about Starfleet mandates.” 

Spock inclined his head in response but said nothing. Pike smiled, settling into his desk chair.

“Congratulations, Commander. A full-fledged Starfleet instructor at twenty-four is impressive,” he gestured to their identical black Starfleet uniforms, “I see they’ve already got you outfitted.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow at the unnecessary statement, 

“Affirmative, Captain.”

Pike’s smile widened as he leaned back in his chair, 

“It’s not necessary to call me captain, Spock. We’re off duty for the next two years at least.” 

Pike looked pleased at the idea, but Spock could not banish the slight sensation of unease at being off a starship for so long. It was easier to associate with humans as the CSO and First Officer than as a civilian. There were many Terran traits and customs that he found fascinating, even admirable, and his years in Starfleet had helped him immensely when it came to knowing how to interact with a multitude of species. Yet, his own quietness prevented him from being capable of bridging the divide between Earth and Vulcan culture. Teaching at Starfleet would provide him a needed academic distraction from his discomfort at residing on a world that he could not acclimate to. 

“You are my commanding officer,” Spock reminded Pike, who raised eyebrows in amusement, 

“Yes, but we’re also both Starfleet instructors, in fact, you’ve surpassed me there. How many different classes are you teaching, five?”

“Six,” Spock stated, “Instructor Phillips of Xenolinguistics is unable to teach this upcoming semester.”

He would have preferred to remain teaching only science and command-based classes but there were no other instructors with the linguistic skill to instruct students. Though Spock spoke thirty-seven languages fluently, he knew that many students were also multilingual and far more interested in Xenolinguistics as a study than he was. He suspected he was assigned the class due to his mother’s famous contributions to the universal translator as opposed to his own unexceptional linguistic skills. Pike shook his head, a lock of gray hair falling across his forehead, his blue-gray eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, 

“That’s a handful, but it’s good to have you back at the Academy. Between you and me, you’ll want to avoid staff room 5, ever since that Engineering Instructor tried to take apart a synthsteel applicator in there, the place smells like a machine shop –“ 

A sharp beep interrupted Pike. Spock glanced at the desk, recognizing the sound as an alert coming from one of the PADDs. Pike sighed, sitting further upright and dropping both hands on the desk, the man’s Starfleet ring clinking against the glass surface. He shuffled through the stack of translucent PADDs, finally pulling out a bottom one that blinked with a soft red light. Pike frowned, studying the contents of the PADD before shutting off the alert. He stood and Spock did as well. Spock was 7.62 centimeters taller than the captain and several Terran years younger, a fact that was much clearer than usual, the lines in Pike’s face sharply defined as he stared down at the PADD. 

“I’m sorry Spock, I have to check something with another department. Apparently Barnett isn’t going to be available to supervise the next Academy board meeting and Lut isn’t in the quardrant, without them there to keep things calm Chandra and Komack will just spend the whole time arguing about the budget.”

Spock tilted his head in a nod, skilled enough now in human communication to recognize the words as a dismissal.


	2. The Shuttle Jumper

Classes at Starfleet would not begin for another two weeks, leaving Spock with too much leisure time. He was productive during the hours, working on several science papers, carrying out experiments in the Starfleet lab whenever it was open, and meditating to maintain optimal health. He conducted himself with the utmost efficiency in every task he began, yet, his human side could admit to experiencing discomfort at being without the scheduled work hours he was used to aboard a starship. ‘Lacking purpose’, his mother had once termed the sensation. At the time Spock had had little patience with vague Terran descriptions of emotional responses but he saw now that she was right. He felt purposeless without the framework of rules and tasks that he had always known as part of Starfleet and Vulcan culture. 

It was increasingly harder every year to prevent his thoughts from wandering to moments in the past, surveying events that were unchangeable, attempting to imagine another outcome. Spock had believed when he had first left Vulcan that Earth would remove any of the inadequacies that he had felt around others. Instead, he had faced a daunting new set of challenges, social interactions, and cues that he had had to train himself to understand and to follow. Perhaps, if he had been born fully human, or fully Vulcan, he would not dwell on that which could not be changed. 

Spock stayed busy, dismissing the wistful thoughts when they came. He had made it clear to Pike five years ago that he had no desire to become involved in any further investigations that San Francisco’s law enforcement were pursuing. The memory of the last investigation was still very clear. He had never been fully honest with Pike about the outcome of that one assignment. How could he? It went against both regulation and logic and yet, he still believed he had made the right decision. He had gained acceptance and respect from many of his peers, he had always known of the unconditional love his mother offered him, but he had never met anyone that had resonated so clearly with his katra as Jim had. 

It was what humans would term coincidental that he would be thinking of the matter again as he returned to San Francisco’s main shuttle bay. Spock had taken a shuttle in the early morning to Philadelphia for a Scientific Achievements award ceremony. His presence was mandatory, as he had refused to attend for too many years already. He found the Terran penchant for rewarding scientific accomplishments with speeches, festivities, and miniature impractical sculptures of little material value to be confusing and pointless. Discussions with his fellow scientists had been illuminating but he had had no desire to remain longer than what was necessary. 

Opening his communicator, he checked the time. The return trip to San Francisco had taken 67.478 minutes, the award ceremony had lasted for 274.068 minutes. It was now afternoon. The shuttle slowed to a halt, hovering above the tracks of where a railroad station had once been hundreds of years ago when humans had relied on trains for the majority of their mass transportation on land. 

Spock stood, tugging slightly on the fitted black jacket of his instructor uniform, his only acknowledgment of nervousness. It was unVulcan to be expressing emotion for no apparent reason but he could not banish the slight uncertainty lingering through him. He inhaled slowly through his nose, fixing dark brown eyes on the shuttle’s open hatch. His fingers tingled, his telepathic shields more unsteady than what he was comfortable with. At the ceremony he had the opportunity to meet Thil Uo, a scientist that Spock respected for their talent in data programming. Uo was Betazoid and Spock had had to remain tightly shielded around them, unwilling to allow his emotions to be freely read by another. The situation had been exhausting, no doubt contributing to his unsettled mindset. He regretted falling out of the habit of wearing gloves to avoid the intimate hand greetings that Terrans exchanged. 

He exited the shuttle after most of the passengers had left, moving carefully through the crowd of individuals searching for their various shuttles. A shout caught his attention and he turned his head, pausing to watch a brown-uniformed security guard stride toward a stationary shuttle. A figure in a gray shirt was on top of the shuttle. Spock watched him grab a bag, most likely his only possessions. Spock had heard of shuttle jumpers before, many considered them vagabonds of some sort, individuals who lived at various shuttle stations and hid aboard transportation to travel without having to provide monetary payment. He studied the lean frame of the man atop the shuttle, the quick movements he made, and suddenly Spock was filled with certainty and an emotion that was both hope and fear as the man glanced aside, sunlight glinting against light-colored hair, his face too far away to see clearly. Still, for a moment Spock was sure he knew the man. Another guard had joined the other, Spock stepped closer to the scene, his heart racing against his side. The man on the shuttle was running, leaping to the nearest shuttle. The guards chased him but they could not keep up, the man dropping down and disappearing into the crowd on the other side of the shuttle platform.


	3. The Beloved

Spock could have followed the shuttle jumper, could have searched the crowd more closely than the security guards who gave up with shrugs and irritated remarks. He could have seen if the man was who he thought but he could not bring himself to know for sure. He left the shuttle platform in desperate need for meditation, for some sort of clarity. Anticipation was much like fear, the emotion colliding against him, increasing the speed of his pulse, the whirring of his thoughts. He was out of any realm of familiarity, remembering only a cold night, round streetlights hanging shattered in the air, fingers touching his own. He shivered at the memories, allowing the city residents to move past him, to merge into their rushing pace, trying to forget what might have just been offered to him again. 

He did not forget. He woke early in the morning, determined to find out the truth of the matter. He returned to the shuttle station, it was empty except for a few security guards and yawning residents who slumped on benches waiting for their shuttle to arrive. The emptiness was understandable considering human sleep patterns but disappointing nonetheless. Spock searched the area carefully, leaving only when sure that even the shuttle jumpers weren’t there. 

Spock returned the following day, near evening this time. Every day he searched the entire station, careful always to avoid arousing suspicion in any of the security guards. Each time he arrived at a different part of the day, a different location in the shuttle station. It was illogical to invest so much energy into a search based primarily on hope but while searching Spock no longer felt that vague discomfort he had known earlier. For now, he had a purpose. 

On the thirteenth day of his search he arrived at 0200 hours, the station deserted except for one platform where a night shuttle hovered, passengers exiting, while a small group waited to board. Spock stopped at the edge of the platform. His hands were tingling, his nerves suddenly humming with the subtle acknowledgement that his mental shields were not as strong as he had once believed they were. In the swirl of passengers exiting and arriving, a man stood still among them. A bag was slung over one shoulder, his dark jacket battered and dusty as if he’d been traveling for a long time to get to where he was. 

Spock was aware that the shuttle was boarding, but he registered the sounds of others only as a distant noise. The man standing there was staring at Spock, his expression one of intense hope. His eyes were very blue. Spock stepped forward without knowing, taking in every feature of that face, the full lips, the slender nose, the blonde hair that was shorter than it had been five years ago. There were slight changes, the man older, his body stronger, no longer so thin.

“Jim.” The name came from Spock, sharp, full of emotion barely repressed. 

Jim walked toward him, stopping only 32.76 inches away. They stared at one another, Spock still taller than the light-haired man. Jim was beginning to smile, his expression exactly as Spock remembered it, everything so similar to what he had once seen and at the same time entirely different. 

When had Jim returned to San Francisco? Why was he here? Questions that Spock had hardly been able to consider in their five years apart were rising in his throat, lodging there so that he swallowed hard, eyes trailing over the face that appeared frequently in his rare dreams. Jim seemed on the verge of speaking, or perhaps laughing, his lips parted, his eyes alight, their cerulean color so bright that Spock could only stare. 

Spock glanced away, aware that his telepathy was faltering, shields lowering around Jim as naturally and unexplainably as they had when they had first met. Jim smiled a little at Spock’s hesitance, looking steadily at the Vulcan until Spock met his eyes again. The shuttle behind them pulled away, the few passengers who had returned were leaving the station, soon it would be only them left. Spock remembered suddenly that brief kiss shared between them on that cold night all those years ago. Had Jim known that Vulcans kissed with their hands? That Spock had never given another the gesture he had offered to Jim then?

“Why are you here?” he finally asked, the usual calm tone of his voice uneven, his eyes searching Jim’s expression closely for the emotions that humans displayed so often. 

Jim’s smile widened, he looked down, scuffing his boot against the concrete station platform. When he looked up at Spock, it was that same shy glance up through long eyelashes that Spock remembered from the coffee shop. 

“Is that the first question you want to ask me after all this time?”

Spock shook his head slightly, unsteady at the awareness of Jim so close, his telepathy reaching toward Jim, longing for the touch of hands and minds. It was an intimate desire he had never felt toward another, it was connected to Jim in so many ways. 

“I do not know where to begin,” He said quietly in response, unable to look away from the brilliant blue of Jim’s eyes. 

“Begin where you left off.” Jim stated just as quietly.

He met Spock’s gaze with something akin to determination and that expression of tenderness he had once bestowed upon Spock in the coffee shop. Then, it had almost frightened Spock to know of another’s fondness, now it filled him with a longing he barely understood. 

“Did you return to your family?” it was not the question he wanted to ask but one he had wondered about over the years. 

Jim’s smile faded, his gaze shifting away again, studying the huge frames of the stationary shuttles lined along the platform. Spock was suddenly aware of how exhausted Jim looked. 

“No.” 

“What did you do?”

“Lived in Seattle for awhile, then this place outside Wichita. I move from job to job, so there’s never been anything permanent.”

There was a hunger to Jim’s words that interconnected with his exhaustion. Spock did not need to be touching him to know that Jim wanted permanence of some kind. Standing this close, he knew the thoughts Jim freely gave him. They had never talked of Spock’s telepathy but he knew Jim must have understood that things were different between them than the fragile connections that Spock had with others. 

“Why did you return to San Francisco?” Spock asked. 

He studied Jim with intent eyes, needing to know what had transpired in the last five years. He noticed a faint scar on the man’s jaw that had not been there before, a burn along the back of Jim’s left hand. Jim gave him a small smile again, the gesture a gift. 

“Because you were here.” 

Spock tilted his head, raising a slanted brow in wordless confusion. Jim rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously, peering up at Spock again through his lashes. 

“I mean I didn’t know where you were from originally, besides Vulcan. Any time I was here I’d stop by that coffee shop you used to work at. I don’t know, I guess I thought that maybe you’d still be working there. I didn’t know you were in Starfleet,” he gestured to Spock’s black uniform, “but it makes sense. Anyway, Tamara, this other shuttle jumper mentioned seeing a Vulcan hanging around here the last few days and I kept hoping it was you, so I jumped a shuttle back here and I thought…well I don’t know what I thought…I just wanted to see you again.” 

Spock blinked, 

“I wished to see you as well.” He responded softly, not sure what else to say. 

Jim’s stance relaxed slightly, words leaving him in a relieved sigh as if he’d been holding his breath, uncertain of the outcome of their encounter. 

“I’m glad.” 

Without saying anything else, Jim stepped forward, he took Spock’s arm in his so that their skin wasn’t touching but they were still in contact. They begin to walk without direction through the near empty station. It was a long while before Jim spoke, his voice low, calm as he talked of the places he had lived during the last few years, the people he’d met, the employment he’d had, shuttle jumping. It was a world Spock had not fully known existed, poverty and recklessness meeting so life was lived with the awareness that at any moment everything could end. There were few rules, no scheduled tasks, no planned goals. He could not live in such a way and he saw that Jim could no longer either. When Jim asked him questions, Spock found his own answers unsatisfying. He did not have the gift of speaking eloquently as Jim did. He could only respond in the safe formulas of fact. 

“How many years have you been in Starfleet?”

“5.786”

“What rank are you?”

“Commander.” 

“What classes do you teach?”

“Advanced Programming, Scientific Theory and Analysis, Astrophysics, Xenolinguistics, Command 501, and Advanced Astronomy.”

“What’s it like on board a starship?”

This question was different because Jim was different when asking though he kept his gaze straight ahead. Spock could tell that the question mattered to Jim, just as Starfleet mattered to Jim. It was more than an institution that his father had once belonged to, it went deeper than that for Jim. No matter how far the man ran, Spock knew that Jim would always return to this starting place of their friendship, of Starfleet. 

“It is cold,” he finally responded, “but it does not matter so much when I consider the value of working with a skilled crew and captain. I much prefer studying the universe while traveling it than to remaining at the Academy.” Spock paused, thinking hard before speaking again, “There is strangeness in the unexplored, many planets and cultures present phenomenon that cannot be proven within the realms of logic. I have seen life and death coexist in unusual ways. One never stops learning in space.” 

“When I was little,” Jim said quietly into the silence that followed Spock’s reply, “I wanted to be a starship captain.” 

Spock looked over at him but refrained from asking any questions. What he knew of Jim’s childhood filled him with sorrow and rage, emotions that were too much for him to fully comprehend. He longed to offer Jim the opportunities that the light-haired man had not had but he knew such gestures could be easily mistaken for pity. 

They walked without speaking, Jim’s closeness hummed against Spock, his telepathy alive with the connection they seemed to share. It had not faded after all these years. Such instinctive intimacy between two minds was mythic on Vulcan, T’hy’la had not been known to occur for many decades and never with a psi-null human and half-human. The human word for T’hy’la did not fully suffice as a proper definition, leaving him unable to explain if Jim asked. Jim did not ask, he did not have to. Spock looked into those eyes, the unreal blueness of them, the reflected longing and contentment there. It was as if no time had passed since their shy conversations at the coffee shop. And yet there was boldness to their interactions, a surety now that they were older. 

They remained at each other’s side until the sky grew light. Spock’s first class would start in 36.784 minutes. He knew the impression he would make if he were late. He did not care. Jim glanced toward the east where the metal and glass surfaces of buildings were gleaming with the light of the sun rising behind them. He looked at Spock, almost smiling, that same sad smile that he had given Spock before he had run. A soft breeze pushed through the shuttle station, ruffling Spock’s short bangs, Jim’s blond hair. 

“You have to go, don’t you?” 

“Affirmative.”

Jim sighed, he leaned against the safety rail that surrounded the ancient railroad tracks. 

“Well, I won’t keep you,” he said, still smiling faintly. 

Spock clasped hands behind his back, regarding Jim seriously. 

“I am not opposed to you doing so.”

Jim laughed, though Spock was not sure why. The sound was as beautiful as he remembered. The gray and blue tones of early morning were painted with light as the sun rose higher, long shadows falling across the station. A shuttle was approaching from the west, people walking along the platform waiting for its arrival. Jim lowered his head, looking down at the rusted iron tracks. 

“Thanks for everything,” he said, his voice low, “you probably saved my life.”

Spock bit his lower lip in a brief show of emotion, aware that lingering any longer would only make it more difficult to leave. He did not believe Jim came back only to thank him but he was not entirely sure what it was that Jim wanted. 

“I believe it is I who should be expressing gratitude.” He responded, longing to touch Jim’s hand, but suddenly hesitant, he moved aside.

He had walked only a few paces away when Jim called his name. Spock turned, that tender look was on Jim’s face again, tenderness and hope. 

“I’m glad we found one another.” Jim stated with quiet firmness. Spock inclined his head,

“As am I.”

Jim approached him leaving his bag near the safety rail. They stood, watching one another. Carefully, Jim extended his hand, two fingers paired, waiting. Spock inhaled, eyes flickering from Jim’s offered hand to his face. The light-haired man looked back at him steadily. Spock reached out, his own paired fingers touching Jim’s. The sensation was electrifying, blissful, Spock closed his eyes, the hum of Jim’s thoughts now an inner music that filled him with warmth. Their fingers brushed together, entwining loosely before falling away. Spock stared at Jim breathlessly. He was not sure which one of them moved, he was aware only of Jim reaching for him, strong hands framing his face, a mouth covering his own. To kiss the way humans did was unexplainable. It was all things at once. It was not enough. 

Spock’s lips parted automatically for Jim, welcoming whatever Jim would give him. He did not care who else was on the station platform or what they thought of a Vulcan Starfleet instructor kissing a shuttle jumper. Spock knew only Jim, how he smelled of sunlight and water, how the cool almost slippery texture of his worn leather jacket felt as Spock grasped it in both hands, drawing Jim closer. A hand slid along Spock’s jaw, callused fingertips brushing over his left ear, tracing the pointed tip. The kisses exchanged were warm, wet, Jim’s body pressing closer so that Spock forgot everything else but the sensations he was experiencing. When they pulled away for air, Jim’s hands slid down to rest on Spock’s shoulders. Spock reached up, tracing two fingers along the back of Jim’s palm. He looked into blue eyes, the morning sun sending golden streaks of light through Jim’s hair. Jim leaned closer, his mouth near Spock’s ear. 

“I’ll see you soon.” he whispered and Spock understood what Jim meant. 

He could envision their future together, living in San Francisco and later aboard a starship. Jim would wear the red uniform of a Starfleet cadet and then, in not too many years, the gold uniform of a captain. They had found each other after all this time and Spock knew from the way Jim looked at him and the powerful bond between them that they would never be parted again.


End file.
